


Revenge So Sweet

by TheWeaverofWorlds



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse, Adult Bill Denbrough, Alternate Universe - The Losers Club Don't Know Each Other (IT), Blood and Gore, Choking, Cutting, Dark, Drug Use, Imprisonment, Kissing, M/M, Mentioned Losers Club (IT), Mutilation, Racial slurs, The Ritual of Chüd, stephen king multiverse theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-29 02:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeaverofWorlds/pseuds/TheWeaverofWorlds
Summary: After Bill Denbrough almost led his friends to killing the deadlights in 1958, IT is out for revenge. IT has sought Bill Denbrough across every universe, in the hopes of destroying him. Sometimes IT succeeded, and sometimes not. But IT has saved this world for last and intends to savor every last moment of Bill Denbrough's life.loosely insp. by Temposhark's "Don't Mess with Me" but not really...
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Pennywise
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Revenge So Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cumdumpster69 (albertpops)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/albertpops/gifts).



IT, the destroyer, the eater of worlds, an entity once called Pennywise by a group of Losers from Derry, Maine, had searched the entire Macroverse for every trace of Bill Denbrough. After the little stunt he had pulled in 1958 of almost killing the deadlights, IT was out for revenge. While the other Losers had played their part in ITs near destruction, they had not led the charge. It was Bill Denbrough who had started their little crusade, and it would be Bill Denbrough who must pay the ultimate price.

IT hunted Bill across every universe, sniffing him out. He shone differently than the others, and it was this shine that made finding him so easy. Even in the universes where everything had gone wrong, and he was only a fraction of that brave boy from 1958, he still outshone every other maggot which crawled on the face of the earth and called itself human. Finding Bill Denbrough was easy after the Ritual of Chüd, they were bonded. It was getting revenge that was harder.

IT had nearly starved itself multiple times. Sometimes IT had missed. Once IT had killed Eddie by mistake, but that wasn’t an error to be repeated. IT had honed in on getting better and better at destroying Bill Denbrough. 

This world was the last one left. In some worlds Bill had met the Losers despite their backgrounds being different, those were always the trickiest for IT. IT had to be careful, because when they were together it was like they had some sense memory of what they had once done, what they could accomplish.

But in this one the Losers were spread across the United States. The Kike had been born and raised in Atlanta. The Germophobe, despite being twenty-one, still lived under his mother’s thumb in Virginia. The Slut had died after an attempted back-alley abortion five years ago. The Fatboy was on the way to a premature heart attack and early grave. The Fag was in sunny Cali, and the Nigger lived on a ranch in Wyoming. They had never met. They had no idea of one another’s existence. IT had saved this one for last, because it would be easy. And IT intended to savor this one.

These would be the last hours of Bill Denbrough’s happiness in the whole Macroverse and they were going to belong to IT. There would be no interference, no one to save the day, no one to mourn the loss of that bright shining boy as he met his end. IT salivated at the thought.

In this world, Bill Denbrough was a loser with a secret. In a tiny conservative town, not so different from Derry except for its location, Bill Denbrough was gay. And tonight he was out cruising.

* * *

IT had learned that horror isn’t the only thing which can inspire fear, beauty has its own terror, and in each world – like a surgeon selecting the proper scalpel – IT must choose the proper form. So for small town closeted-gay Bill Denbrough, IT became Robert Gray, pouring itself into the form of a man. Tall. Sculpted cheek bones. Bright blue eyes which suggested mischief, lips made for sin. Bill Denbrough wouldn’t be able to refuse him, not tonight when he was so desperate to get off. This form had been made to fulfill Bill Denbrough’s deepest fantasies. But it was Robert who would be satisfied tonight.

Robert had tracked Bill Denbrough to a gay club in the Southside called The Dark Tower. It was a filthy neighborhood, not an up and coming spot for sure, which only made it perfect for Robert’s intentions. He crossed the street towards the nondescript building, the only thing suggesting its true nature was a line of strung out men waiting to get in. Robert didn’t bother with the line, heading straight for the door. The bouncer did nothing to stop him. Why would he? Robert Gray was an attractive man in his thirties, probably someone’s sugar daddy – and if not now certainly by the end of the night. The bouncer’s assumptions made Robert smile, his teeth glowing in the dim lighting.

As the door closed, he was in the dark surrounded only by the pounding music and smell of sweat and sex and liquor. He sashayed down a short staircase, dodging a pair making out against the wall, and turned to find the main floor of the dance club. Here the music was deafening, lights pulsating above, turning the bodies vibrant shades of magenta and teal. The maggots moved en masse, gyrating, thrusting, touching. It was a sea of want and need. Desperation and hunger. 

In the midst danced Bill Denbrough and he was beautiful. In this banal universe the boy shone.

Like a shark, Robert Gray moved seamlessly through the writhing bodies on the dance floor, his eyes never leaving his target. Bill was dressed in a tight black tank top, and slutty silver booty shorts which left nothing to the imagination. On his cheeks was highlight or body glitter, a practical neon sign saying “come fuck me.” He had come to The Dark Tower to get dick, and Robert was not going to disappoint. Coming up behind Bill, he pushed his hips up against Bill’s own.

Bill glanced over his shoulder, and for the first time, in this world at least, IT was looking into the eyes of the enemy. They shone in the dark, pupils blown wide with desire and some concoction of mind altering substances. He was high, on his youth, on life, on drugs, didn’t matter. Robert was just the thing to bring him down, but not yet. He couldn’t afford scaring him off. This was his dessert after all he had done and he meant to enjoy it.

Bill smiled, obviously liking what he saw and began to filthily grind against him. Robert placed his hands on Bill’s hips, enjoying the slippery feel of the thin fabric beneath his hands.

Tired of shaking his ass, Bill spun around, slotting his leg in between Robert’s as he danced, pressing it against Robert. Robert could feel Bill’s erection on his own thigh. He rubbed at it, eliciting a filthy moan from Bill’s lips.

Robert leaned in to be heard over the music, “fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Bill smiled, looking up through dark lashes. He must have put on mascara.

Robert began running his hands over Bill’s skin, slick from sweat. “Say, wanna get out of here? I can make you feel good, baby.”

“Oh?”

Robert nodded, pulling a white pill from his pocket. He placed it on his tongue with a smirk.

In the crush of people, Bill surged forward planting a kiss on Robert’s lips. Bill’s tongue slid past Robert’s lips, in search of the little pill. Robert chuckled at Bill’s need. The boy tasted of whiskey. Robert chased that flavor with his tongue, pressing it between Bill’s pliant lips. His hands traced the sharp contours of Bill’s collerbones and throat, before wrapping around to the nape of his neck and tugging the short hairs there.

Bill gasped, breaking the kiss.

Robert began pressing hot kisses onto Bill’s throat so as to mark him. Mothers always tell you not to play with your food, but Robert had never had a mother so he played to his heart’s content. Bill’s body was hard under his hands, sharp bones and the valleys between them, muscles taunt like a strung bow just waiting for release. Robert could feel Bill’s heartbeat, the twitch of his hard member, the wanton lust.

“Fuck,” Bill moaned.

Robert’s fingers tightened around Bill’s hair. “So good for me.”

The words were murmured against the angles of Bill’s collar bones. Robert inhaled his scent. No fear, just a hunger of his own, but there was time for that. They would have all the time in the world.

“So what do you say? Wanna get out of here?”

Bill nodded to the best of his ability with his head being pulled back by Robert. He grimaced in pain, but Robert merely smiled. He let go of Bill, the latter stumbling at the sudden lack of pressure. Robert caught him.

“Let’s go, baby. I have just the spot.”

* * *

Bill woke up. He was lying on a hard mattress above him he could see pipes running along the roof as if he were in the basement of some sort of industrial complex. The only light came in from a window at the top of the wall, all but confirming that this was a basement. It must still be dark out, as the weak light appeared to be a sickly green shade common in street lights. Had it been hours or days since he had come here? Bits and pieces of whatever came before tried to surface, but not enough to form a concrete image.

His body ached. He was coming down from a high, and was desperately craving another hit. His mouth tasted of stale booze, and was painfully dry. He tried to move, and that’s when he noticed the restraints. His ankles and wrists were handcuffed to loops in the wall and floor, the warm metal cutting a warning into his skin.

He tried to look around, and that’s when he realized he wasn’t alone. Standing in the corner was the man from before. Bill could barely make him out in the gloom, but those baby blues were unforgettable.

Bill strained at the handcuffs, and Blue Eyes came forward. A bottle of water in his hand.

“Did w-we –?” Bill’s words were raspy, and he realized his lips must be chapped because he could taste blood.

“We didn’t fuck. You begged and begged, and it was beautiful but I wouldn’t satisfy you so soon. I wanted to make this last. I wanted to make sure you remembered.”

Despite the situation Bill blushed at the candor of the man’s words.

“Here, Billy, have a sip.”

Bill tried to frown, he hadn’t been called Billy since he was a child. Instead the mouth of the plastic bottle was forced between his lips. At first he choked on the water, most of his dribbling down his chin and neck, then his throat remembered how to swallow and he emptied the bottle in seconds.

Blue Eyes pulled it away watching him all the while. A gentle hand came and pushed Bill’s limp, greasy hair from his forehead.

“W-where am I? Is this some sorta sex d-dungeon?” Bill asked.

Blue Eyes smiled. “Not at all, don’t be dramatic. This, Billy, is the last place you’ll ever see.”

A hot knife of fear twisted in Bill’s gut. He tried to jerk away from the man, but the metal of his restraints cut into his already tender skin.

Blue Eyes laughed. “I always forget how silly you humans are. How much you forget.”

The way he said human made Bill think that this man, whoever he was, must believe he wasn’t one. The thought of being trapped was bad enough, but being trapped with an insane person was even worse. Bill had to get out of here. “W-what do you mean? Forget? What am I supposed to remember?”

“Your friends,” Blue Eyes hissed the last word. “So loyal. So many promises made, and yet in this life where are they to save you?”

Bill’s head was reeling. The mental fog from the pills and the booze was still going strong, even if some of the discomfort had gone with the aid of water, but now this man was talking about Bill’s friends? Bill didn’t have friends. He couldn’t afford to, because one day they might find out his secret and – his breath hitched.

Blue Eyes was studying him intently, Bill met his gaze. He was being tested, only he didn’t know what the test was.

“I don’t know w-what you’re t-talking about.” He wished that he sounded brave, but his words came out petulant.

Blue Eyes smiled, and for a moment it seemed that his teeth were too big for his mouth. Bill blinked and the illusion vanished. “I know. It’s a pity really. I should have liked to destroy the last of you in a place you knew them, but this world was too delightful to do anything but save it for the end. Besides the risk that they might try and rescue you was too great.”

“You really are crazy.”

“No, Billy, not crazy. Just taking what is my due.”

Bill began to tremble. A frenetic light had entered the stranger’s eyes. Bill thought it was just an illusion, no one’s eyes could change from blue to gold, but it was no illusion. The color remained even as he blinked willing it away.

“Now, for our game,” Blue Eyes said. From his pocket he withdrew a pill bottle. His thumb covered everything but the name of the patient. _Edward Kaspbrak_. Bill wracked his brains trying to figure out if he knew the name, and when he looked up he found Blue Eyes, eyes still gold, watching him with amusement. He shook the bottle. “If you’re good, I’ll supply your drug habit. Let this all happen in a daze, like a dream, happening to some other boy in some other world. If you’re bad, which knowing you I suspect you will be, all this will happen with mind numbing clarity. I don’t care much either way, as by the time I’m done with you you’ll be just like the rest of these maggots. No more gifts. No more shine. Just an average, strung out, addict. Only your drug will be me. So are you going to be good for me, Billy?”

And although Blue Eyes had spoken English for the entirety of his monologue, Bill felt as if it had happened in another language. He didn’t know why Blue Eyes had seemed so adamant on the fact about it feeling like a dream, or that they knew one another. He had no clue who this man was. Gifts? Shine? What the fuck? His fight or flight response was keying up, his body tensing for a fight, but there was nothing he could do chained to a bed.

Blue Eyes watched with an amused smirk, and that’s when Bill realized how foolish he was being. He relaxed to the best of his ability. “I’ll t-take the drugs.”

Blue Eyes smiled. “Unexpected, but I like a challenge.”

Bill expected the man to drop the pill in his mouth, but instead with a sense of showmanship, the man opened the bottle and placed it on his own tongue before straddling Bill’s hips.

Bill grimaced at the expectation that he was meant to kiss his captor.

Blue Eyes leaned forward, the smell of rot and decay flooded Bill’s senses. He tried to gag, turn his head away, but Blue Eyes grabbed a hold of his jaw forcing himself on Bill.

Bill chased the pill, some part of him telling him if he failed Blue Eyes wouldn’t be willing to repeat the performance. Whatever was coming he wanted to be barely aware of it. He managed to get the pill into his own mouth, struggling to swallow it dry.

Blue Eyes pulled back. His lips were a deep red, wet with saliva. His teeth all but glowed in the dim light.

Bill tried to shrink onto the bed, but there wasn’t much he could do to get away.

Blue Eyes leaned back and laughed, the sound echoing off the pipes and walls until that was all Bill could hear. Vaguely he was aware of Blue Eyes grinding down on him, but as promised it was beginning to feel like a dream. He was hardly aware of the blindfold being tied around his eyes.

“Open wide, Billy.”

Bill did so, expecting to feel the man’s cock. Instead:

“This is for the Ritual, mushmouth.”

He could feel Blue Eyes leaning in, that rotten breath filling his senses. He wanted to pull back, but the mattress stopped him.

An exploding pain erupted in Bill’s mouth, as teeth, sharper than any human’s, tore through his tongue tearing it off. Blood filled his mouth and esophagus. He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a gurgling moan. He was choking on the blood, drowning in it. He could smell the heady, iron scent of it even though he couldn’t taste it.

His head was pulled up, allowing him to swallow, but the blood kept coming. It was never going to stop coming.

“Not yet,” Blue Eyes growled. “You won’t die yet. The fun’s just beginning.”

Blue Eyes tugged Bill up. 

Bill coughed, spitting blood and saliva out of his mouth. Cold air rushed down his windpipe. He tried to speak, but of course nothing came out. This seemed to entertain Blue Eyes as he started laughing again.

“And another thing? The pills were just a placebo.”

Blue Eyes dropped Bill’s head onto the mattress, and immediately he began to choke again. The blood wasn’t stopping any time soon.

Blue Eyes continued to play with Bill, pulling him up by his hair so that he could clear out his mouth, gasping for air, before inevitably dropping him again.

Now that Bill knew the drugs were a placebo he was acutely aware of the staccato pain burning inside his head. Some sick part of him told himself he’d never have to be self conscious of his stutter again – granted he had no tongue now. Another part mourned the fact that he’d never be able to give good head again. He was useless, no man would ever want him – all these were assuming he’d make it out of here alive which was looking highly unlikely.

It was impossible to tell how long Blue Eyes played with drowning him in his own blood. Bill was sure he had passed out a few times, but every time he’d come to there was still the blood and spit and the lack of oxygen threatening his senses.

At last Blue Eyes pulled Bill up farther than he had before. His shoulder twinged as Blue Eyes shoved him into as close a sitting position as the restraints allowed. He barely registered the pain.

The blindfold came off, and Bill saw a majority of the mattress was covered in blood. He watched Blue Eyes leave his field of vision before coming back with some surgical equipment and gauze.

He sat on the bed as if the blood weren’t there, forcing Bill to look at him. His eyes were no longer gold, and Bill was almost sure he had hallucinated it.

“Look at me,” Blue Eyes’s voice was gentle.

Bill did so.

Blue Eyes pressed Bill’s mouth open like one would to do a dog and began to clean out the blood with some gauze. Bill flinched at the rough dry texture, but Blue Eye’s grip was too strong for much more of anything.

“I meant what I said, Billy. We’re just beginning our little game. I can’t have you choking on your blood right away. The infection may come for you, all that blood in your lungs,” Blue Eyes clicked his tongue. “But that will take some time, and until then you’re mine.”

Once he was done with his surgery, Blue Eyes pushed him back onto the filthy mattress.

“I’d advise you to sleep.”

As much as Bill wanted to stay awake, find a way out, his body had sustained a lot of stress and it wasn’t long until he was fast asleep.

* * *

Bill was woken at odd hours, and new games were played. Blue Eyes broke his ankle, not like he’d be able to run anyway. He beat him within an inch of his life, and stubbed out a line of cigarettes on his skin.

Once Blue Eyes had carved the word _Haystack_ into his stomach, making sure that it was legible from Bill’s point of view. Another day it had been _Trashmouth_ into his ribs. These words were meaningless to Bill, all he knew was the pain, and hunger. Blue Eyes gave him water, but never food. And when he had to piss it was into a bed pan like an invalid. _Kike_ and _Nigger_ had been added to his thighs, and _Germaphobe_ was carved into his left arm. The only one that made sense was the word cut into the skin above his heart. It read _Slut_.

Bill felt shame at that one. It was his need to get laid that had gotten him into this mess. He wondered if anyone was looking for him. Certainly not his parents or George. He hadn’t talked to them since he was 18. But maybe his neighbors or boss had noticed he was missing? Then again maybe they hadn’t.

When Blue Eyes was feeling especially vindictive he would kiss Bill, shoving his tongue into the healing sore while groping at his flaccid dick. While at first Bill fought back, as time went on he stopped. He had lost a lot of blood, and fighting no longer seemed worthwhile. More days were spent in his head than aware of what was being done to his body. He didn’t care. All he longed for was death.

The worst moments were when Bill was alone, those words carefully carved so he could read them, seemed like accusations and he wondered what promise he had forgotten. A guilt unlike anything he had ever experienced would fall over him, and all he wanted to do was cry but there wasn’t even energy for that.

* * *

In the end it wasn’t the infection that got him, but sheer exhaustion. Bill lasted almost two weeks, longer than IT had expected, before his body gave out. The bright boy had finally been snuffed out. IT had gotten ITs revenge and oh how sweet it had been.

**Author's Note:**

> My best friend challenged me to write this, and well a deal's a deal. I'm sorry...  
> Please leave a comment telling me what you thought.  
> YRS.  
> Weaver


End file.
